How Slytherin got its Reputation
by Felice09
Summary: Ever wondered how Slytherin got its reputation for just being so ... badass? We all know that Draco Malfoy is a contributing factor.  An exploration into the factors behind Slytherin's reputation through the eyes of Harry Potter.
1. For Hedonism

**How Slytherin got its Reputation**

**... For Hedonism**

The first notable occurrence of Slytherin hedonism began with the construction of Hogwarts, or more specifically, the Prefect's bathrooms. The founders argued over placement choices for their student's living space, and after much arguing and many games of Rock, Parchment, Wand; Salazar Slytherin was to find himself quite put off, and living in the dungeons of the grand castle.

It was written that after an eternity of whinging and non-stop complaining from the venerable fourth founder, Rowena (the wise) decreed a compromise was to be set. As Salazar found the dungeons distasteful, conducive only to torture and potions making (the latter of which would be a plainly disastrous pastime for anyone with even the slightest interest in personal grooming, hair care, and the maintenance of a proper manicure) two extra rooms were built to assuage Salazar's building ambition.

Both rooms were bathrooms, much to the consternation of a certain Godric Gryffindor. Salazar dubbed the Prefect's bathroom his own personal spa, and the second room his secret bathroom, filled with secret chamber pots and other secret things.

Gryffindor called it excessive, flamboyant, outrageous and ridiculously hedonistic.

To Gryffindor it denied comprehension that Slytherin would want anything else when he already had everything one could need for a lifestyle of happiness by simply having a dungeon.

Indeed, he told Salazar with much vehemence exactly how he felt on the issue, to which Salazar stated that he always knew Gryffindor was a kinky bastard, and thus the Inter-House feud which lasted for centuries began.

* * *

The first spark.

It skittered through comprehension, eventually fanning the flames of what would become a roaring, passionate inferno.

The caviar.

A certain Gryffindor glared malevolently over his table's array of jams and preserves to spy a black and gold pot standing proud and decadent on the far table by the wall, boasting it's superior spread for all to see. Green eyes glowered as a lily white hand lowered a shining silver knife into the pot, crushing the greenish blob of fine cuisine into a paste over a sliver of toast.

"Bloody Malfoy with his bloody caviar." Harry Potter grumbled.

"Hu'wa'?" Questioned his red haired accomplice through a mouthful of mostly chewed food.

"Caviar." The word flung from the brunette's mouth with as much distaste as one could muster for so fine a delicacy. "What kind of decent individual eats caviar for breakfast?"

Ron Weasley blinked and swallowed his bulging mouthful of food. "Malfoy." He said, in a self-explanatory tone, shrugging as he reloaded his fork. "He's a rich git. He'll do what he wants."

The boy with the infamous scar seemed dissatisfied with his friend's casual dismissal and turned his narrowed green eyes back to the blonde boy on the far table.

Malfoy scooped up the scrap of caviar gilt toast and consumed it blissfully, licking his pink lips slowly and moaning sinfully to prolong and thoroughly appreciate the culinary experience.

Harry found himself wetting his own lips in response to the imagined delight he felt as he pictured him in place of Malfoy (or was it the toast?). He shifted in his seat, staring guiltily at the disregarded Gryffindor jams he was somehow being disloyal to.

Pleasure.

That was the currency Malfoy was dealing with. Unbridled pleasure. Let the rich eat caviar, it's their pleasure. And Harry was fuming. It just wasn't fair. Malfoy was enjoying this culinary pleasure and Harry was not. Malfoy was enjoying his pleasure without Harry!

It was unforgivable. Irreconcilable. Incongruous. Unfair.

Hedonistic.

* * *

The next day there was a small black and gold pot of the rare poached fish eggs sitting in front of Harry on the Gryffindor table. He looked very smug as he opened it and spread it sparingly on his bread and bacon.

The saying "Ill gotten gains are twice as sweet" rang true, and each bite tasted better than the last.

Looking over to the far table with a superior twist to his features, Harry watched his blonde rival eat today without the benefit of his caviar.

Ron, the red haired accomplice, rolled his eyes as he masticated his food roughly.

Hearing the piercing cry of a descending eagle owl, both Gryffindors watched as the owl deposited a largish package on the Slytherin table in front of the blonde aristocrat.

Malfoy opened the package with much enthusiasm and a puff of steam exhaled from the box when opened.

Smug smile firmly affixed, Malfoy reached into the box and withdrew a dish of the purest silver, atop of which was perched a glistening red lobster seated on a bed of greens. The Slytherins all gathered round the delightful platter, beseeching a taste from their ice prince benefactor.

Malfoy broke off a claw and wrapped his lips around the joint, exhuming the meat with enraptured moans. Harry broke out into a sweat when Malfoy removed the claw from his mouth with a wet sounding pop.

Ron gave his friend a conciliatory pat on the back and cleared his throat of food long enough to say. "Slytherins and their seafood eh? Mental."

Glaring as Malfoy grinned triumphantly across the hall at him, waggling a lobster claw in mimicry of a friendly wave, Harry groaned.

"Bloody Hedonists."


	2. For Sexual Deviancy

**How Slytherin got its Reputation**

**... For Sexual Deviancy**

In the founding era, when there was time between all the castle building and magic making, the founders both practised well and documented well their policy of free love. Yes, pre-dating the muggle movement of the 1960's, the founders' policy on free love resulted in many a key-party and many a drunken morning.

The wine flowed freely, the hair was let down, and many an heir was propagated.

Each of the founders looked for a certain special something in their partners, and soon each founder developed a well known reputation for specific sexual proclivities.

The historical record differs but it is generally agreed that these generalisations are mostly accurate.

Helga Hufflepuff was a cuddler, and partook in much of the smiley, giggly, nicknaming-sexual-organs, type of sex.

Rowena Ravenclaw was precise. She would often offer criticism during the sex act, and conducted many peculiar experiments with magic, vegetables, anything on hand to enhance the sexual experience.

Godric Gryffindor enjoyed a take-charge attitude when it came to sex. He was a very possessive lover, and would often skip out on the swinger's nights in order to devote more private time to his current lovers.

Slytherin's exploits were held in suspicion, mostly due to the fact that he conducted his exploits in private. He avoided the raucous Hogwarts parties in favour of pursing his pleasures with a singular lover, and would not discuss his experience with the other founders over breakfast.

They had reasons to be suspicious though. Love letters, roses, odd bits of jewellery and the occasional love bite made clear that Salazar was not celibate. He had a secret lover, but was never caught in the act.

The closest anyone came to discovering Slytherin's mystery lover was Helga, who burst in on Slytherin, nude and bound to his bed, panting and flushed with no sign of his mysterious lover.

After cooing new nomenclature for Slytherin's "trouser snake" and searching the dungeons for the elusive partner, Helga left, only to tell the other founders over breakfast the next day of Slytherin's newfound sexual deviancy.

* * *

Harry wanted to slap him.

He wanted to pummel his face into the stone wall of the corridor. He wanted to break all the bones in his fingers one by one to listen to the sinuous snap they would make. He wanted to draw his brain out through his nostrils. He wanted to push his body through a gigantic cheese grater, he was simply that angry.

Blaise Zabini had his hand on Draco Malfoy's arse.

The context of the situation completely eluded Harry; his mind was swept into a maelstrom of possessive rage.

Zabini wasn't supposed to touch Malfoy. No one was supposed to touch Malfoy. Especially not on the arse.

Although it was a very nice arse.

A cute arse.

Yes. It was. Just the right amount of plumpness to make it round, yet firm with muscle. Taut.

Harry bet there were probably dimples on Malfoy's arse, it was that cute.

But enough of that. Not only was Zabini touching Malfoy's cute arse, not only did he have the audacity to put his hands on it, but he slapped it!

That's right. Slapped Malfoy's cute, perfect, dimpled, untouchable arse!

Oddly enough, after Malfoy's initial jump, he actually looked relieved. Perhaps he liked being slapped on the arse.

This was puzzling, and through his anger, Harry pondered if Malfoy had a spanking fetish.

The thought brought heat to Harry's cheeks. Knowing Malfoy, he probably did.

Narrowing his eyes at the green clad students, Harry managed to scowl and blush at the same time.

Slytherin deviants.

* * *

Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley had something in common other than the purity of their blood. Aside from a stubborn temperament, the ability to hold grudges, and the desire to be Harry Potter's best friend, they both shared a similar phobia.

"I don't know what those house elves are doing. This castle is filthy." Draco complained, glaring daggers at the cobwebs infesting the lofty corridor.

"I think Trelawney likes the dust." Blaise posited. "It stimulates the allergens of the inner eye."

"And thus she can predict when a student starts to sneeze. She can sooth sneeze." Pansy nodded with mock seriousness.

"It's not like it takes any effort to snap up a house elf. And they can clean a room with less effort than it takes for one of us to call them." Draco grumbled, brushing dust off his jumper.

"Is widdle Dwaco afwaid of a widdle dust?" Daphne Greengrass cooed, holding surreptitiously behind her back a handful of said dust, scooped from the floor.

"Does little Daphne have a little speech impediment?" Draco replied cooly, turning to cast an icy look on the girl. Before his freezing glance could hit though, Daphne blew the handful of dust in Draco's face.

"Ack!" Draco stumbled back, coughing, and spun through a cosset of spider webs hanging between the corridors.

"Get it off me! Get it off!" Draco demanded, frantically brushing the sticky web off his clothing. His friends Pansy and Blaise rushed to his rescue, batting his clothing and shooting cleaning spells at the garment until the worse of the dust was gone.

"Is it all gone?" Draco questioned tentatively.

Pansy, assessing Draco's front, nodded and started responding when Blaise interrupted her.

"Yeah –"

"Whatever you do, don't move." Blaise said in a low steady tone. The kind of tone reserved for talking madmen out of their weapons or addressing a hungry tiger within striking distance.

Draco's body seized up, completely frozen.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm getting rid of it. There's a spider –"

"Spider!" Draco's voice squeaked up several octaves. "Kill it! Kill it now!"

"Hold still." Blaise requested.

Of course, Draco ignored him. "Where is it? Is it on my back? Is it in my hair? Should I shake it out? Tell me!"

"It's right –" Blaise's hand swung down in a practise arc, then plummeted to land on Draco's plump bottom. "-Here!"

Draco didn't react, instead asking quietly. "Is it dead?"

Blaise withdrew his hand, inspecting the spider pressed flat against it. "Yeah, it's dead."

Draco's entire body sagged with relief. "Oh Merlin. I hate spiders."

Blaise's hand still tingled from the impact with Draco's arse. Savouring the feeling of his hand smacking against the blonde's behind, he felt decidedly deviant.

* * *

**AN: Hello readers. If you'd like to be reviewers, that'd be cool too. Just a quick hopeful enquiry. If you have any other ideas or strong opinions of what Slytherin has a reputation for, can you please send me a review and let me know, for I currently am stuck as to what else Slytherin's are except for Sexually deviant hedonists.**

**So if you have some good ideas, please drop me a note, and I'll dedicate that particular chapter to you. **

**Cheers,**

**Felice**


	3. For Cowardice

**How Slytherin got its Reputation**

**... For Cowardice**

By now it's quite clear that the founders were adventurous types. In their intellectual endeavours, political endeavours, sexual endeavours and endeavours in general, they tended to excel above the norm.

The thing about having a group of high achievers in a competitive environment like a school (even if they are the teachers) is that when one succeeds in an endeavour, it is appropriate etiquette to boast. When one fails in an endeavour, or even worse, refuses to take part, much jeering and ridicule is required to put the individual in his or her place. This is simply how competitive people operate.

And so the same was said of the founders.

And so when Rowena Ravenclaw invented the time turner there was much cheering, and boasting, and toasting, and laughter, and celebratory speeches, and the victor was triumphant, and the loser was dejected, and the lions laid down with the snakes, and the inventor was praised until everyone else got very tired of it, and then Rowena used the time turner to go back and repeat the thing all over again.

And so mote it be.

But when a founder would not take part in an endeavour; say for example, Gryffindor's annual dragon wrestling competition, the shock was widespread.

Slytherin was not fond of dragon wrestling, much preferring to sit at the stands and watch from afar as the sweaty competitors fought dragons in their mostly incinerated clothing.

Gryffindor, in typical competitive spirit, challenged Slytherin to join him in the dragon wrestling. When Slytherin refused most profusely with full use of his widened vocabulary, Gryffindor took offence, and of course, the best verbal rejoinder he could think of was simply one word, and though little else was said, and at the time Gryffindor looked quite foolish for responding so simply, that one word stuck.

Coward.

* * *

"No, no backing out. You chose dare! Now let's see some smooching!" Pansy Parkinson clapped her hands imperiously as she crowed with delight.

Seamus and Dean exchanged reluctant looks, turning back to the Slytherin with matching hangdog expressions.

"Can't we do something else?" Dean murmured.

"Yeah, why's it so important you get off on two blokes kissing then anyway?" Seamus grumbled.

"The divine aesthetics of boy on boy love is not something I'd expect every individual from the unwashed masses to understand. Only those of higher cognitive ability have the innate ability to appreciate something like this; something truly, blissfully elegant." Pansy preened, her statement followed by vigorous nods from most of the female population in the room.

"Yeah, only pervs." Ron muttered derisively after observing Hermione batting her eyelashes coyly at the boys, a moony expression on her usually pragmatic face.

A minute tic of Parkinson's perfectly plucked black haired eyebrow registered Weasley's comment before she turned her look of disdain over the collective group of male Gryffindors.

"It's not like I'm asking you to wrestle a dragon or something. It's only a kiss. Don't tell me two strapping young Gryffindor lads are afraid of a little kiss." Pansy sneered.

At this, both boys lit up with an unusual fervour, before leaning into one another and smacking lips. They both drew back with triumphant grins on their faces, tipping their chins up proudly.

"Take that." Dean said before chuckling at his muggle culture reference – before blanching at his incredibly camp reference.

"Yeah, no one says us Gryffindors are afraid of anything." Seamus nodded proudly.

"Great!" Pansy smiled slyly. "Now truth or dare? Did you like it?"

Both Seamus and Dean flushed pink before Seamus gruffly replied. "It's not your bloody turn."

Pansy grinned, her brown eyes lighting cheekily. "That's right, it's not. So, Granger?"

Hermione took on a similar countenance to her new Slytherin friend. Looking aptly around the room, her eyes settled on the very blonde and rather tired Draco Malfoy, who was currently playing with the hem of his sleeve.

"Malfoy!" She picked. "Truth or dare?"

Draco looked up, blond strands framing his grey eyes nicely. He yawned, then pouted childishly.

"This is asinine."

"Truth or dare!" Hermione repeated shrilly.

"I don't want to play anymore. I'm tired." Draco protested, slowly getting to his feet, only to be yanked to the floor by Pansy.

"Pansy, choose for him." Hermione said brusquely.

"He'll choose dare." She replied, much to Draco's consternation.

"Very well. Malfoy, I dare you to snog Harry." Hermione declared.

"WHAT?" Came the token scandalised gasps of the best friends, Ron and Blaise.

"What?" Malfoy blinked, puzzled, a sleepy frown on his pointy face.

"What?" Harry sort of breathed, in horror – he would tell everyone, even though it sounded like the breath of someone who's wildest dreams have just come true.

"Snog Harry." Hermione repeated.

Draco glared at her for a second, then his eyes flicked to Harry, giving him a cursory once over. There was no indication that he didn't like what he saw, but he still made to stand up.

"No. I didn't choose dare, and I don't want to play anymore. I'm going to bed." Draco declared.

"But Draco, Gryffindors aren't afraid of a snog." Pansy pointed out, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Yes, well Gryffindors are habitual idiots." Draco replied before smothering another yawn with his hand.

"Don't be a coward Malfoy. Dean and Seamus kissed." Hermione reminded him.

"True. But your newfound Gryffindor lovebirds didn't stay up til 4am last night herding third years out of the Astronomy tower. I'm tired, that's hardly cowardice." Draco replied, smoothing his robes out.

"It is cowardice." Hermione replied stubbornly, pouting now that her aesthetic experience was denied her.

"Goodnight everyone. Wake me up and I'll hex you bald Pansy." Draco said as a parting comment as he shuffled out the room to go back to bed.

"Draco." Pansy whinged. But it was no use. Draco had shut the door, gone to sleep and not snog.

The group stared at the door for a while before shrugging and going back to the game. Nearly everyone missed Harry's muttered epithet for the departed boy, whispered under his breath.

"Slytherin Coward."


End file.
